


Debts Repaid

by RenegadeDreamer



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: (also Ranmaru is a potty mouth but what else is new), (well about as angsty as Ran gets anyway), Angst, Fist Fights, Hurt/Comfort, based on the games (All Star specifically)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenegadeDreamer/pseuds/RenegadeDreamer
Summary: When Ranmaru runs (or rather charges headlong) into trouble, Camus is there to help him pick up the pieces along with the rest of Quartet Night. Whether he wants them there or not.





	Debts Repaid

Ranmaru always felt at peace whenever he walked into Kitchen Parsley. The place wasn’t large or fancy, but it was warm and inviting. The days he spent working as a cook were enjoyable, despite the heat and frantic pace of churning out dishes fast enough to satisfy customers. The smiles the old couple gave him were always enough to elicit a smile from him in return, likely the only genuine smiles that ever appeared on his face except while tending to cats. They felt more like family than his actual blood relatives did. That was why, despite the debts he had hanging over his own head, he needed to alleviate their burdens however he could.

He walked up to the counter where the old man was standing. “Yo gramps! How’s business?”

The old man greeted him with a smile. “Ranmaru! Good to see you! Business is good. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh yeah?” Ranmaru looked around to see far more empty tables than there should be at what should be one of the busiest times of the day for a restaurant.

“How about you? How’s work been?“

“Me? It’s alright. The usual.” Yes, the usual, with Reiji being his usual loud overbearing self, Ai being his usual quiet unobtrusive self, and Camus…being his usual Camus self. He grumbled at the thought of his least agreeable bandmate.

“Is something wrong?”

Ranmaru snapped his head up and, upon seeing the old man examining his expression, waved off his concern. They had enough to worry about without his petty quibbles. “Ah, no, sorry, it’s nothing. Just your everyday pains in the a- annoyances. Nothing I’m not used to dealing with.”

The old woman peeked her head out from the kitchen. “Ah, hello, dear! We always appreciate it when you come by.”

Ranmaru waved. “Nice to see you too! You managing the kitchen alright?”

“Yes, dear. Have a seat, I’ll fix you something!”

Ranmaru didn’t want them to be expending ingredients on him when they could be using them for paying customers. “Oh, that’s OK, I was just-”

Just then some heavily tattooed men in suits swaggered into the restaurant. Some had bats or metal pipes slung over their shoulders. It was likely they were also hiding knives, by the way others had one hand in a pocket. One of them who was wearing a particularly fancy suit and by the way the others stepped aside to let him pass appeared to be the leader, approached the counter. “Hey you. You need to pay up.”

The old man shrunk back, eyes wide. “What? But…but we just gave you money…”

“Well, geezer, it wasn’t enough!” 

“But we…we don’t have enough for another payment right now…”

The leader smashed his fist on the counter. “You fuckin’ talkin’ back to us?!”

Ranmaru thrust himself between the old man and the yakuza, hands clenched into fists. “Hey! You leave them the fuck alone, assholes!”

The leader stood up straighter in an attempt to use his height to intimidate. A tactic that would’ve worked better if Ranmaru wasn’t tall himself. “Stay out of this, you little shit!”

One of the other yakuza knocked down a nearby empty table, causing the dishes on it to fall and break. A couple of people seated near the door abandoned their food and quietly fled, while the remaining diners sat frozen, not wanting to call attention to themselves. Ranmaru knew that between dwindling business and the extortion from the yakuza, they would struggle to afford to replace everything if a fight broke out inside. As it was, the current altercation was already driving away needed customers.

He shoved past the yakuza and stood by the door, beckoning them to him with a gesture of challenge. “Oi! Let’s take this outside! Unless you jackasses are all too scared!”

It was a cliche taunt, but somehow it worked as they all ran after him. He tuned out the voices of the old couple calling after him and begging him to stop, drowning them out with a shouted order for them to run as he ran himself.

More yakuza awaited him outside. Of course. Anyone willing to shake down an old couple for money couldn’t be expected to fight fair. He whirled around and drove his elbow into the throat of one who had a bat raised over his head. He led the rest of them down a nearby alley so that there would be no headlines of a fight breaking out outside of the restaurant (and the narrower quarters meant that they couldn’t surround him as easily). He knocked over a nearby trashcan into their paths, more just because he could than expecting it to do much. Sure enough, they still quickly caught up to him, although not all at the same time, meaning he didn’t have to face as many of them at once. He kicked one into a dumpster, the putrid smell of rotting food briefly wafting into the air as the top was jostled open momentarily. The crack of a nose under his fist elicited a visceral satisfaction. The bone-on-bone collision stung his knuckles. He couldn’t give less of a damn. He sunk his fist into another one’s diaphragm. That one folded into himself and sank into the ground gasping for air. Good. These assholes were the ones that should pay. Another swing. Another crack. Another groan. No stopping. Not until the old couple was safe. He could handle them. They were nothing.

Hands held his arms fast. In his efforts to free it, a blow to his shoulder compounded the force already applied to it by his yanking. The combination knocked something out of alignment. It felt wrong. The pain paralyzed his arm. The kind of pain that shot up into his throat and stuck there. Attempts to move it only resulted in agony. As he reeled, something hard struck his leg from behind. Another blow, this time to the back of both knees, forced him to kneel. A kick to the back of his head knocked it to the ground. White flashed in front of his eyes. He thought he could taste iron. His head rattled with pain. His one good arm rose to protect it. The yakuza exploited the opening the defensive motion left. Feet collided with his ribs, driving air out of his lungs with hacking coughs. Blows rained down from every direction. Some jarred his injured shoulder further, which screamed in protest. _Get up,_ he ordered his body. _Fight._ However, any purchase he tried to gain by pushing himself up was instantly kicked out from under him. Any air he inhaled was forcibly expelled back out of him. He was drowning. There was no water, but his lungs strained for air all the same. There was only pain.

Was this it? Was he going to die without having settled all the debts he’d shouldered for everyone? The idea scared him more than dying itself. And of all the ways to go, a beating in a back alley by these thugs? That thought pissed him off. _No. Not yet, dammit._ He had too much left to do. Too many people counting on him. Something cold and sharp started to bite into his skin. _Move, body, move-_

“That will be quite enough of that.”

That deep baritone voice sounded so familiar. No way, Ranmaru told himself. He must’ve been hit on the head too many times. His ears were deceiving him. There’s no way Camus would be here. No way that pompous jerk would ever lift a finger for him. But that voice was so distinct. One he’d heard so many times.

The blows stopped. His lungs hungrily took in the air they had been previously denied even as his ribs protested. He could hear scuffling and yelling. Was it just him or did the temperature drop for a moment? Footsteps pounded out of unison, several fading into the distance.

He could hear the old man asking questions, the old woman fretting about him, and both asking after his wellbeing, with Camus responding in that high pitched fake nice voice (normally so gratingly cloying, but just this once a welcome relief). They had clearly not listened to his earlier call for them to run. The old woman’s voice became softer, but he could still hear quiet sobs.

He heard Camus issuing instructions to some unseen persons. “You. Clean this up. You four go after those cowards who just fled. And you two. Help me with this.”

Pain and exhaustion clouded his mind, but he acutely felt his shoulder joint being shoved back into place, and he gagged on the resulting searing stabs. His head reeled. The taste of iron lingered on his tongue. Through his fading consciousness he could feel himself being carried and put into a car. He no longer had the strength or facilities to protest. 

\---------------------------------

When Ranmaru awoke, he found himself staring at a ceiling he didn’t recognize with a large chandelier hanging on it. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright lighting in the room. His whole body ached and throbbed, especially his shoulder. There were heavy bandages on some of the more severe wounds he had incurred during the confrontation with the yakuza, including a sling on his left arm. He was shirtless, which he guessed was because of the need to clean his wounds and bandage them. Not that he was ever particularly modest or shy. Bruises were interspersed on the unbandaged parts of his skin.

Looking around, he could see the room was furnished with only the basics, albeit rather elaborate ones. The whole room was gaudy, despite the sparse furnishings, and while it was dust free it looked barely lived in. He wondered who would be tacky enough to have a _chandelier_ in a bedroom of all places, especially when there were also wall-mounted lamps. Besides the bed was a nightstand, and across the room he spotted a desk. Even the bed he was laying in had headboards with ornate designs. He thought they looked vaguely familiar, but he brushed it off as the pattern being a common design. Whatever had been in the Kurosaki family mansion that he or his family hadn’t taken had been long sold off or buried in rubble and concrete when it was knocked down and turned into a park. It was impossible for anything from there to have survived.

“The fuck am I?” He started to sit up, but the pain that spiked throughout his body forced him to lie back down.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Camus said as he entered the room, a tray with a glass of water and a small prescription bottle on it in his hands.

Ranmaru wanted to snark about how much of a butler - a _servant_ \- Camus really looked like with that tray, but his head pulsed with sharpness and more urgent questions emerged. “Why am I here? Where the fuck are we?” 

“You are in a guest room at my house.” He put the tray down on the nightstand, took out a pill from the bottle, and held it and the water out. “Here. Take this.”

“Hell’s this?”

“Pain medicine.”

Ranmaru almost commented that he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t poison, but he reasoned that if Camus really wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of bringing him here in the first place. Besides, his head - his everything, really - was killing him. So he swallowed the proffered pill and water, albeit a bit clumsily with only having one arm to do so with. Like hell he’d ask Camus for help for such a basic task. “Did you…what, bring me here to laugh at me?”

“If that was my goal, I wouldn’t need to bring you here. I could do that anywhere.” 

“Asshole.” Then, with a glare, “Why didn’t you just dump me back at my place? Or just…” A pause as he contemplated the darker possibility, the one he’d attribute to Camus as the more likely course of action. “…just leave me there?”

“That should be obvious. Neither place has the proper amenities to treat your wounds. And I figured you wouldn’t want to be swarmed by fans and reporters in a hospital. You don’t need to worry about the latter, by the way. That’s being handled.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but yes it was.”

“Smug jackass.” Then, while suppressing the desire to punch Camus’s face in, “What…what about the old couple? They okay?”

“Yes. Neither of them were injured, and there was little notable property damage.”

Ranmaru sighed in relief. One good bit of news that made everything else worth it. “That’s…that’s good.”

“Rest assured. They will be able to live in peace from now on. And so will you and your family.” 

Ranmaru narrowed his eyes at Camus. “What do you mean by that? And what do you know about my family?”

“All you need to know is that all of your debts have been cleared and no one will bother any of you again.”

Ranmaru stared at Camus, searching his face for any signs he was lying. However, Camus’s face remained inscrutable. “…how do I even know you’re telling the truth?”

“I do have documentation that verifies what I’ve said. You may also check the news and ask those restaurant owners or your family yourself.” 

While there were lots of things about Camus that rubbed him the wrong way, Ranmaru had an inkling he wasn’t the type to pull tricks, at least not one of this magnitude. It didn’t seem right that he’d go through the trouble of driving off the yakuza and patching him up, but then lie about this. Even for Camus, it seemed like it’d be going too far. Camus was also far better off than either the old couple or Ranmaru and his family, so he’d have nothing to gain from them on that front. Plus he was all too aware Camus had the means, between his position and the garish opulence he so loved to indulge in. He knew he should feel relieved, but he mainly felt suspicious of Camus’s motives and shame at receiving outside help, even if he’d had no choice in the matter. “The hell? This wasn’t your fight, dammit! I don’t need your fucking charity or pity!”

“Do you care about your pride, or results?”

“You…I…I can do it myself. I don’t…I don’t need anyone else.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t you fucking patronize me, you arrogant bastard!”

“That was not my intent. I simply wanted to point out that while your approach may work most of the time, sometimes a different one is more effective at yielding the desired outcome.”

As much as Ranmaru hated to admit it, Camus did have a point. No longer having any debt to worry about had been his goal the entire time and would certainly be a major weight off of his shoulders and those he had been working so hard for. While he could make the decision to charge ahead the way as he always had, even if it was to his detriment, the people depending on him didn’t have that choice. He realized he didn’t have the right to decide for them. He still carried the Kurosaki name with all of the responsibilities and debt, but none of the advantages and privileges that it once conferred. Even if the weight of it yielded only hardship, it felt too significant to let go or allow anyone else to carry it.

A small voice in the back of his mind pointed out that just as Camus had given him no choice in whether to accept his aid, he hadn’t given the old couple or his mother and sister the choice either. He argued back that they were in worse shape than he was, so it was only right he be the one to fix things. The voice started to point out the potential parallels when he internally yelled at it to shut up, he was nothing like Camus.

In spite of losing everything and having to try to build something of a new life from nothing, working in a job he felt no passion for at the cost of something that was his greatest passion, he still felt compelled to keep moving forward, to keep clawing his way out from the pit of debt. There was too much to do to spend time dwelling on things that couldn’t be fixed. He’d grown accustomed to his debt-induced frugality. Ren and Masato living within what would look like exorbitantly extravagant means to the average person didn’t faze him much, even if it was a reminder of what he’d lost and what his life could’ve been like now. Camus doing it bothered him, because everything about Camus bothered him. Still, a small part of him was glad to have been pulled out of that pit, liberated from the weight of having to stretch every bit of money while making it look like he didn’t have to consider such things. This was the result he had been toiling towards all this time. They were all free. His family. The old couple. Him.

Ranmaru turned his gaze to the wall and went quiet, the faces of the kind old couple and his mother and sister flashing in his mind. Then, “…as long as they’re safe.” He looked up at Camus. “So…what, did you get your henchmen or whatever to kill them all?”

“No, nothing so barbaric. But you don’t need to worry yourself over the details.” 

Ranmaru mused to himself that Camus’s status as a count meant whatever strings he pulled were likely attached to something less unsavory than the seedy underbelly of the yakuza. The fact reassured him just enough that he sensed the old couple and his family were probably not in immediate danger. “Why were you even in the area anyway?”

A dismissive shrug. “I just happened to be there. I heard their parfaits are exceptional, so naturally I had to experience one for myself.“ While Ranmaru knew all about Camus’s obsession with sweets, the change in pitch in his voice aroused suspicion. He narrowed his eyes, but before he could get a question out, Camus initiated an abrupt change of subject (and another change in pitch), “Now tell me…where does it hurt?”

Ranmaru blinked at him, not expecting that question. “…what?”

“I said, where does it hurt?”

“The pain ain’t that bad. Besides, can’t you just like get an ice pack and let me put it myself or whatever? And didn’t you just give me that pill?“

“My ice magic can apply cold more precisely and without condensation. Besides, with how the abundance of injuries you have, the number of icepacks needed would be quite cumbersome. And there’s only so much painkillers you can take before side effects start being a concern. It may have taken the edge off, but some of the pain’s still there, is it not?”

As right as Camus was, Ranmaru didn’t want to concede. “If you think I’m gonna let you feel me up-”

“Don’t be so uncouth. Though I suppose that might be asking for too much.”

“Fucker.”

“You wish.” Camus put his hand over Ranmaru’s bruised knuckles and channeled his ice magic.

“The hell are you doing?! You trying to freeze me to-“ He realized that while he could feel the cold, it wasn’t painful. The soreness from the bruise faded the longer his hand remained. When Camus pulled his hand away, there was no condensation left behind, just as Camus had said. Ranmaru stared at the spot where Camus’s hand had been and flexed his fingers, the motion not inducing any soreness. “Holy shit…”

“Now tell me: where does it hurt?”

Reluctantly Ranmaru pointed at his shoulder, which had been dislocated during the fight. While it had shoved back into its socket at the scene, the joint still ached terribly from having been forcefully displaced from (and repositioned back into) its natural alignment. Camus placed his hands on the front and back of his shoulder. He shivered a bit at first due to the cold coming from both hands rather than just one. However, he also found it helped reduce the pain, and his body eventually adapted to the cold. Camus’s touch was gentler than he expected, and as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, it was surprisingly somewhat soothing. Under normal circumstances he’d find the idea of so much close contact with Camus repellant, but these weren’t normal circumstances.

Gratitude was at the tip of his tongue, but he found it hard to actually express it aloud. Slightly easier to spit out was the question that had been on his mind the whole time. “Why…?”

Camus shifted his gaze up to Ranmaru’s face. “Hm?”

“Why…are you helping me? What are you getting out of this?”

Camus redirected his eyes back to where his hands were. “I have my reasons. Besides, it would’ve been troublesome for the group to be down a member.”

“Hah. Shoulda expected that answer. Well, whatever.” A pause. “So…what, now you’re gonna hold this over my head?”

“No. I’m sure you’ve had enough of people holding things over your head.”

Ranmaru stared at him, not expecting that answer. “That’s…that’s unexpectedly magnanimous of you.”

He was used to handling everything alone. He’d drown everything else out with his bass, or by focusing his attention on caring for the cats that would come to his apartment. With his current state, neither of those were options, leaving him with no real outlet. Even with his bass here, it still wouldn’t be an option with his shoulder injured the way it was (in the smallest of blessings, his dominant side was spared).

His bass. That he needed for work. Specifically, Quartet Night’s upcoming performance was going to feature all of them playing their instruments on stage for a portion of the event. It was possible to compensate for one arm being immobile in choreography. Not so easy with an instrument requiring two arms to play. If he couldn’t play his bass, he couldn’t work. And the bass meant more to him than work. It was his passion. His escape. His joy. Even now his hands felt restless. Unless he found a way to adapt his playing style, but that would take time he wasn’t sure he had. Dread stabbed through him like a knife. Dammit…

His thoughts wandered back to an equally gloomy topic. On some level just below conscious level, he missed the camaraderie he’d shared with his previous bandmates before breaches in trust broke them up. Even though he’d long written off his remaining family, he still didn’t want them to have to bear the debt his father had left behind. The Kurosakis had long lost their status and wealth, but he was still the head of the family with his father gone. The old couple had accepted him and given him work, always greeting him with open arms even after he’d stopped working for them and started at Shining Agency (he preferred not to remember the spate of failed bands in between). But despite the strong front he put up, it did prove to be draining (and being beaten to within an inch of his life certainly didn’t help matters). He felt it all the more acutely with no work or bass or cats or anything else to distract himself from that. Being forced to be still allowed the exhaustion to seep in, all the way to his bones. 

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a icy sensation on his face. “I’m just applying some cold to the black eye here, to reduce the swelling.” True to his word, Ranmaru could feel cold emanating from Camus’s fingertips to a tender spot under his eye.

“…right.”

After a while of silence, Camus asked, “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Ranmaru took a deep breath, only to wince as he felt a sharp pain and let out a barely audible, “Fuck.” Then he added, while pointing out the spots where he felt the pain the most, “…my ribs.”

Camus put his hands where Ranmaru had indicated and channelled his ice magic through them. “The doctor I had examine you said your ribs were likely bruised, but he did not think any of them had a full break.”

As the numbness from the cold settled in, Camus could feel the muscles under his hands relax and stop guarding against pain whenever they moved for breath. Gradually Ranmaru’s breathing became more even and the grimace on his face faded.

Ranmaru watched Camus’s expression carefully, noting that while he usually ensured not a hair was out of place, he noticed small beads of sweat beginning to accumulate on his forehead and a slight waver in his stance. “Oi…isn’t this tiring you out?”

Camus pursed his lips as he steadied himself. “This is nothing I can’t handle.”

Ranmaru could heard the tightness and exhaustion in his voice that belied the words. “I…look, the pain’s mostly gone now, so…so you can take a break if you want.”

The way Camus immediately complied instead of arguing was another subtle sign of the toll the heavy use of his magic was having on him.

“…Thank you.” Those two simple words felt like an admission of weakness. But they needed to be said to clear at least a bit of the new debt he had incurred. He hated the idea of owing anything to Camus, though he sensed that at the very least Camus was less actively malicious than his previous creditors.

He felt a hand on his arm. “Get some rest. Should you require anything, you need only say the word.”

“Right.” This time the sentiment came out a bit easier, even if he had to condense it to one word for it to do so. “…thanks.” 

Camus nodded. He had started to head for the door when Ranmaru called out, “Camus.”

He turned partly to look back. “Hm? What is it, Kurosaki?“

“Look, I don’t like leaving debts unpaid. So if…if there’s something I can do for you, just…lemme know, alright?”

“I doubt that will be necessary. But…I shall keep your offer in mind.” With a final nod Camus departed, allowing his injured bandmate the solitude and silence he needed to rest.

\---------------------------------

Camus had told him that he could stay as long as he needed, and anything he needed was immediately delivered. He’d even had a TV brought in so he wouldn’t go too stir crazy while recovering from his wounds. However, Ranmaru was eager to get back to his own place as soon as possible, both because it was familiar and because he didn’t want to accept more of Camus’s hospitality than he absolutely had to. Besides, he knew Camus had a dog (named Alexander - what kind of name was that for a dog?) from all his prattling about how his dog was better than most humans while looking pointedly at Ranmaru. While the dog kept his distance, he could see him watching him whenever he got up to use the bathroom or just be somewhere other than cooped up in that gaudy room, even if the rest of the house was just as tacky. Despite the fact Alexander never showed hostility around him (except when he’d accidentally wandered too close to a particular door - probably Camus’s room), he still felt uneasy.

With an injury that could affect his ability to perform and play his bass (fortunately most of the other injuries were further along in healing by then), it was impossible to conceal the fact that he got hurt from Reiji and Ai, especially when the next practice session came around. The sling on his left arm spoke for itself. In addition, Ranmaru had no poker face or ability to lie, while Camus had both but no inclination to use either (though he at least had the discretion not to mention anything about the Kurosaki family’s debt). They had also noted the lack of contact in Ranmaru’s right eye - it had been enough of a struggle for him to remove it, and like hell was he going to let anyone else near his eye. Where before the four of them would mostly do their own thing outside of practice and work, now he was seeing a lot more of his bandmates.

Reiji had become a borderline smothering mother hen (and had no clue just how close to being smothered he had gotten at times). He brought over food and enough groceries to last him weeks (he always made sure to include bananas) and invading his kitchen to cook. Cooking was something Ranmaru missed doing himself, even if Reiji was also a very good cook. Reiji fussed over him doing even the simplest things himself (including opening the door for any cats that came scratching) and constantly telling him to sit back down, that he’d get whatever he needed. Thankfully, that did not include anything related to the bathroom, but if Ranmaru remained in there too long Reiji would bang on the door asking if he was alright and offering to go get him some medicine or whatever he needed.

“I can do it myself! I’m not a child, Reiji!”

“But you’re hurt, Ran-Ran! You need to rest or you’ll never heal! Don’t worry, I’ll take really good care of you! We’re a family, after all!”

Reiji had kicked up a huge fuss when Ranmaru reached for his bass - it had become such a habit that he didn’t even know he was doing it until Reiji loudly protested. Ranmaru had snapped at him that he already couldn’t do a lot and he wouldn’t do anything to exacerbate his shoulder injury, but to just let him have this one thing. Reiji had relented, though he still watched him intently. Even though he couldn’t play it normally, just feeling the weight of the bass laying across his lap and idly plucking at the strings with his good arm brought him a peace of mind only his bass could.

Despite Ranmaru grumbling and telling him to buzz off, Reiji kept coming back, always with a big smile on his face and a bento box, or the ingredients to make one, in his hands. Most often it was his famed Kotobuki karaage, which he knew was one of Ranmaru’s favorites (and something he’d sometimes use as a bribe). He’d then drape himself on his couch, shooting the breeze and fawning over the cats. He’d also feed them, to the point Ranmaru had to tell him not to give them too much lest they get fat. Reiji would laugh and say they’d be cute no matter what, but nevertheless stopped when he told him to. Ranmaru found that his presence did not annoy him, but instead comforted him. There was something warm about his chatter that was missing from the din of the TV when it was on. Plus he’d never turn down more of Reiji’s cooking.

Ai had scolded Ranmaru for his foolhardiness in diving headlong into a fight and getting as badly hurt as he did. He did acknowledge his reasons were noble, even if his actions were impetuous. He would come to check on his injuries and that he wasn’t doing anything to exacerbate them, as well as help change any bandages. He’d also expound medical advice he’d researched about his injuries, especially anything pertaining to his shoulder. When Ai started rattling off complicated anatomical terms, Ranmaru had to interrupt him to say he had no idea what he was talking about. Ai sighed and chided him for not knowing his own body, but nevertheless switched to terms he could actually understand.

“You’re quite fortunate Camus was there when he was. We might not be having this conversation right now if he wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. I…really owe him.”

Ai had looked surprised at his immediate agreement and his last comment, but carried on with examining his shoulder after a momentary pause. He’d meticulously researched different exercises for rehabilitating a dislocated shoulder and guided him through them. Ai was not bothered by any cursing or groans when he pushed the shoulder into a position that was painful but bearable (though never to the point of further injury) for Ranmaru, reminding him that he had to push past the pain if he wanted his shoulder to get better. Denials that it hurt only led to a repeat of said reminder. It got to the point where Ranmaru would greet him with, “Oh, you here to torture me again?”, to which Ai would give only a small smile in reply. Ranmaru had to shut him up again when Ai started rambling about the precise angles that were optimal for results and the calculations involved to arrive at those numbers. But results they did get though; soon enough Ranmaru had more range of motion in his arm and was able to wear his contact again. After so long wearing it every day it was a little strange seeing himself in the mirror without it.

Ai also researched ways to play the guitar with an injured shoulder and helped Ranmaru devise something that worked the best for him. They experimented with using a pedal to compensate for his left arm, which served as his fretting arm. It didn’t quite sound the same, but they did produce some interesting sounds that Ranmaru thought had potential for use in future songs. Ai had also gotten him a wider shoulder strap for more even distribution of the guitar’s weight. He’d hold up the neck of the guitar while Ranmaru played and adjust the height to determine what level was most comfortable for him. Ai also sat with him, talking or just quietly sitting next to him as they practiced their respective instruments or worked on lyrics. There was something about Ai that calmed him when he was around.

Camus also came by often. While most of his wounds were still healing, he would apply his ice magic to any areas that still hurt, focusing the most on his shoulder and ribs. The idea of having so much physical contact with him was foreign at first, let alone that the topic would’ve been initiated by Camus himself now that the wounds weren’t so fresh.

“Lift your shirt.” 

“What? Did you not get enough of an eyeful the first time?” 

“Just be quiet and do it.” 

He hadn’t expected it would continue beyond that one night. But he admitted to himself that his ice magic actually did help, and it was easier for hands to stay around his ribs than ice packs. Fortunately, the bruising around his rib cage faded soon enough, and his ribs stopped reminding him that they had been hurt when he breathed. Camus grumbled at the presence of the cats, but nevertheless stayed to keep him company and apply his ice magic. Not that Ranmaru gave him much of a choice about the cats, telling him it was their home and if he didn’t like it he could leave. He also pointed out he never complained about his dog. He hadn’t expected Camus to acquiesce, but then Camus had been doing lots of unexpected things lately. 

Camus had delivered the documents as promised, though Ranmaru no longer doubted the veracity of his claims that debt no longer plagued him or anyone else. What little he could discern through the legalese stated that any debts were null and void and that the involved parties were not to contact him or those associated with him. One name in particular caught his eye - Hariya. The bastard that had betrayed his father. He’d crumpled the paper with his fist, but thought better of ripping it apart and smoothed it back out. He demanded to know Hariya’s whereabouts, but as expected Camus refused to answer, saying only he would never have to worry about him again. He did question how he knew they’d even hold up their end of the deal (especially Hariya), but Camus had assured him he had methods that were rather effective on that front. There was a certain edge to the word _methods_ (and the signature seemed rather shaky - did Hariya always have such bad handwriting?) that led Ranmaru to the conclusion that it was best to leave the details unknown, even if he wished he could’ve gotten his hands (and fists) on the traitor himself. 

The old couple had reported that they had such a large uptick in business that they were able to pay off the remainder of their debts and repair or replace anything that had been broken by the yakuza. Ranmaru suspected there was more to it than that, but Camus’s expression remained as infuriatingly unreadable as ever. They had even treated Camus to the most extravagant parfait he’d ever seen (complete with sparklers - who eats food with _sparklers_ in it?), one so large Ranmaru was surprised one person could eat the whole thing by himself, or would have been if it was anyone besides Camus. They had also prepared an equally elaborate dessert for Ranmaru (thankfully in a portion they knew he could realistically finish in one sitting) despite his protests. They showered gratitude over them both, but begged Ranmaru to never put himself in so much danger again. The old lady had remarked how delightful it was Ranmaru had made such a good friend. Friend? Well, he supposed Camus’s actions had at least merited him a status above enemy and asshole. Beyond that, he had no idea what to call him, besides bandmate by necessity of work. Comrade? Perhaps, but it still didn’t quite fit in light of recent events. He pondered that as he watched Camus eat (how can anyone look so refined even while stuffing his face like that, he wondered). When Camus glanced up at him, he redirected his attention to his own dessert, no closer to an answer.

Ordinarily Ranmaru hated the idea of accepting help. If he did everything on his own, there’d be no one who could betray and abandon him. Besides, handling everything alone had become a way of life for him. But knowing how stubborn his bandmates were (especially Reiji), and given how Camus’s help had liberated him, he decided it wasn’t so bad to have people he could count on. It would’ve been so much easier for Camus if he’d just done nothing and left him there. There was no reason for anyone to suspect he’d been in the area that day. He thought Camus hated him (the feeling would’ve been mutual - or used to be, at least). It would’ve been an easy way for Camus to get rid of him. It was doubtful the yakuza would’ve stopped until…not much fazed Ranmaru, but the thought caused his stomach to clench. Instead Camus had intervened and saved his life. While he still didn’t entirely like how heavily involved Camus had gotten with the debts, they were a massive weight off his shoulders.

Even after losing everything, he’d still managed to move forward alone. Perhaps now, free from the debts of his past, he could move forward with his group. While his previous bands had all eventually broken up, he felt there was something indelible about Quartet Night. Reiji was especially dedicated to the group being united first and foremost (family, he had called them). Ai was a steady and calming presence. And Camus…was Camus. After that night, that took on another meaning altogether. He had shown a completely different side. He never imagined him to be the type to go so far out of his way for another person, yet he had. For him. Given how often they clashed, that was the most surprising thing of all. Ranmaru still didn’t know how he felt about him, but the glimpses of Camus’s more human side had planted a sprout of trust in a place he thought such a thing could no longer grow. His sense of Quartet Night’s bonds being stronger than those of any of his previous groups was reinforced at seeing how hard they all worked to help him instead of abandoning him and watered that sprout.

\---------------------------------

The day of the concert arrived. While they were preparing to go on stage, Camus applied his ice magic to Ranmaru’s shoulder, something that had become rather routine for them. Seeing Camus nonchalantly reach under Ranmaru’s shirt and Ranmaru being equally nonchalant in his lack of reaction caused Reiji to squeal (probably the only grown man in existence besides perhaps Natsuki to _squeal_ ) about how wonderful it was that they were getting along so well. Both of them shouting, “Shut up, Reiji!” in unison had the opposite effect, inciting gushing about how they were just so in sync and how that was proof of how close they had gotten. Ai finally dragged Reiji away, telling them to do what they needed to do and apologizing on Reiji’s behalf, though he did give them a lingering glance as he walked away.

The concert had gone smoothly, with every seat in the venue filled. Even though most of the range of motion in his shoulder had returned, Ranmaru wore a sling during the dancing segments to minimize risk of reinjury. As he’d expected, adjusting the choreography to compensate for one immobile arm did not detract from their giving a dynamic performance. During the portions where they played their instruments, they all sat so as not to draw undue attention to Ranmaru sitting to minimize the strain on his shoulder. At times Reiji would forget he was supposed to be sitting and would get up and prance around shaking his maracas. Ranmaru wondered if it was truly forgetfulness or just Reiji being his usual Reiji self. He guessed the truth was somewhere in the middle. Either way, it had the same effect of keeping said undue attention away from Ranmaru. 

After the performance, Ranmaru was gathering his things in his dressing room when Camus came in (the last he’d seen of Ai or Reiji was the former scolding the latter for deviating from what they’d practiced).

“Kurosaki. I’ve considered your offer.”

“Yeah, and…?” He braced himself for something onerous and unpleasant.

“I’ve decided. The best way to repay me is to ensure that what happened that night never happens again. And that next time you report if such circumstances show themselves again.”

Ranmaru closed the case for his bass and looked at Camus. “I don’t _report_ to anyone. And that’s it? Gotta say, that’s not what I expected at all. You sure you don’t want something else?”

“Of course you’d say that. And if I wanted something else, I would’ve said so. I suppose it would be within my rights given how much trouble I went through for you.”

Ranmaru crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Tch. I never asked you to in the first place.”

“No. But…I don’t usually bother unless I’m sure I’d get a worthwhile return on my investment.”

Ranmaru stared at him, unsure of how to take that. “And so…did you? Was it…worth it?” 

“In spite of your more abrasive traits, you are…not without redeeming qualities. And I’ve found your company…not objectionable. At least not as much as usual. So I’d say…yes.”

Ranmaru stood there, taking in what was possibly the closest to kind words the bandmate he butted heads with so often with had said to him. Camus used the silence to continue. “Besides, it would’ve been a waste if you’d died there.”

Ranmaru’s voice took on a sarcastic edge. “Why? It would’ve been troublesome to be down a member?”

“No. Well, not only that. You’re bullheaded enough that nothing scares you. And you’re utterly reckless in how you charge into everything without thinking. You’re quite vulgar, but you toil for others’ sake with no expectation of recompense. Those…merit some measure of credit.” A pause. “And I’ve grown…accustomed to your brand of abrasiveness.”

Backhanded compliments, but about as close to sincere ones as he’d get with Camus. “And I’ve gotten used to your weird sugar fetish. And your…your _youness_ , aggravating as that can be.”

“Heh. That’s very much an answer I’d expect from you, Kurosaki.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

A shrug. “Nothing. It seems you’re immune to change, which…well, there’s something to be said for some things remaining constant.”

“Huh? You and your weirdass comments. Honestly…”

Suddenly Camus held out a hand. Despite the fact that he had been touching him in more intimate areas, something about the handshake felt even more personal. Camus’s hand was cool while his was warm, but the contrast did not feel unpleasant. 

“You’re still a peasant.”

“You’re still a prick.”

The words had none of the usual bite behind them. On the contrary, both men were smiling. Ranmaru supposed this was something resembling a friendship. Or something else entirely. Certainly something different from before. But not bad.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired from reading summaries for Ran's route in All Stars (my kingdom for official localizations yes I know those are pipe dreams), mainly his working so hard to pay off debts for the old couple and his family and Camus helping him whether he wants him to or not. I basically took "what if no one was here to stop him from throwing down with the yakuza threatening the old couple?" as a jumping point and ran wild from there. I hope I did the concept justice.


End file.
